


Changing the Game

by junko



Series: Tag, You're It... [11]
Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nic returns from his run-in with Dr. Theo and Trevor, expecting to find Worick waiting for him. What he finds instead almost changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing the Game

**Author's Note:**

> I decided I wanted to post something, even though this is very short, because of the official hiatus of Gangsta. And I want to remind myself to keep on with this story, even as our beloved canon falters a little. (Fingers crossed for you, Kohske-sensei and your continued improving health!)

Nic came back expecting Worick to be anxious that he’d been gone so long. Instead, Worick and his druggie friend were naked, wrapped up in each other.

The bedsit stunk of sweat, sex and cigarettes. But, the thing that made Nic’s nose wrinkle in disgust was that almost indetectable odor of something chemical.

They were passed out.

Passed out---not sleeping, because if Worick was just asleep, he would have woken up when Nic came in with the coffees. Of course, Nic couldn’t know how well he’d done, but he had tried to make his entrance as noisy as possible. He hoped to the contrary, but there was always the chance that Worick might be fucking to pay the rent, as it were. Nic didn’t want to surprise them in flagrante delicti.

He’d done that before and… well, he never wanted a repeat.

But there hadn’t even been a twitch on Worick’s face when Nic shouldered the bedroom door open. Worick’s face was as slack and lifeless as the one on that junkie they were staying with. Nic crouched down, setting the coffee container beside Worick’s head. Leaning in close, right over Worick’s ear, Nic said: “ **iF yOU’re On sOMeTHinG, i’M gONna fUCkinG kILl yOU.** ”

Not a goddamn twitch.

Not even that kind of tense stillness of someone who knows they’re being observed and pretends to be asleep. No, Worick was fucked up on something, and he was sleeping like the dead.

Nic let out a slow, angry breath. 

Then he shot to his feet and started hunting for it. What was he looking for? Pills? Powder? Fucking needles? It didn’t matter; if there was a stash, he was going to find it and he was going to flush it--or fuck it, resell it on the street. They needed the money, after all. 

Remembering the loose floorboard he’d found earlier, Nic pried it up now. There was still a bundle of cash there, though not as much as before. As he stuffed the bills into his inside coat pocket, Nic shook his head. He was sure that the druggie friend had forgotten this money. Before he told Worick about it, it was clear the bills hadn’t been touched in a long, long time. They’d been covered in cobwebs and dust. Even though he knew Worick wouldn’t see him, Nic signed: _You obviously can’t be trusted with this. Either of you. It’s mine now._

He stared at Worick a long time and then added, _Also, what the fuck?_

This was supposed to be the beginning of something. Hadn’t they finally figured out a way out from under Monroe? Weren’t they starting fresh? What the hell was Worick playing at? He’d been so scrupulous to avoid drugs at Big Mama’s. A lot of the girls ended up on TB or ecstasy or any number of things, but Worick always stayed clean. He’d always joked that one of them had to be drug free in this mess.

As Nic continued to search for the drugs, he kept glancing at Worick, trying to figure him out.

Could it have been a one off? Some kind of ‘sure, why not’ in light of of the recent turn of events? It wasn’t like Worick had to show up to work tonight? Could have just wanted to blow off some steam? 

Worick did drink to excess occasionally. 

Often enough, in fact, but not usually to celebrate. Worick tended to want to remember the good times, since they had so few of them. 

In fact, once, he’d drunkenly confessed to Nic that he drank to try to obliterate the worst of times. Since everything stayed in his head like some kind of recording, there were moments, he’d said, he wished he could erase. It never worked, but, for a few hours, when everything was blurry, he could pretend it had.

He drank to dull the pain.

So it seemed odd that Worick would have gotten high as a celebration--though it was still a possibility in Nic’s mind. After all, what would Worick need to erase right now?

Nic stepped over the pile of clothes he’d dumped on the floor in his search. Normally, he’d be careful to return everything to its proper place, but he wanted Worick and Druggie-Girl to know they’d been had. He left the hole in the floorboard propped open for the same reason. 

He glanced around the tiny bedroom, wondering what was left to try. He’d even been able to dig through the blankets and mattress, Worick and Druggie-Girl were so out of it. His eyes skipped over the holes in the cracked plaster, cursing himself for even considering wanting to learn to fix-up this dump for Druggie-Girl. How naive to think they could actually try paying some other way. Of course Worick had paid with his flesh. He always did.

Nic was surprised Worick bothered telling Druggie-Girl about the cash. Why not just blow for some blow, eh, you piece of shit whore?

Fuck, god damn it all.

One of the holes in the wall was deep, and the size of someone’s fist. Nic almost ignored it in his anger, but doubled-back to check inside. Sure enough, someone had hollowed out a little pocket between the plaster and the lathe. Nestled inside was a baggie of something powdery. Nic tucked that in his inside pocket, next to the bundle of money.

Then, picking up his katana and the pink purse with their money and the Celeber, Nic walked out.

He wasn’t sure where he was going to go, probably just sulk on the rooftop, but he sure as shit couldn’t stand around and watch Worick self destruct.

#

Sometime around two o’clock in the afternoon, Worick’s head peeked curiously over the edge of the roof. He smiled to see Nic perched on the chimney. With a bright wave, he pulled himself the rest of the way up from the fire escape. “I thought you might be up here.”

Nic just shook his head in warning and signed, _Fuck off_.

“Hey, hey, no need to be like that,” Worick said with a disarming smile, his hands raised as though for peace. “I’m so glad you rolled the place. Diane is so fucked up, she didn’t remember that you came with me, so she thinks some stranger stole her shit. Win/win, my friend. Good job.”

Worick raised his hand like he expected a high five.

When Nic glared at him and refused to give it, Worick acted like he never expected something so dorky, anyway. Shoving his hand into the pocket of his jacket he continued to smile, “C’mon, don’t be stingy. Tell me how much we made off with.”

Between what Druggie-Girl had and what Worick had accumulated at Big Mama’s, their grand total was nearly three thousand. Not to mention the added value of the remaining Celebre and the two year supply owed by Monroe. They were, for the first time in their lives since entering Ergastulum, not doing too badly.

But, Nic didn’t feel like sharing that fact at the moment. In fact, he’d meant to say something cutting and not at all stroppy sounding, but what came out was: _Why’d you sleep with her, huh? You didn’t have to pay like that. I said I’d fix up her place._

Worick’s good eye went wide and then his face got all soft. “Oh? That’s what you’re mad about? Sorry, babe, it was just habit. You know I’ve been working since I was fourteen.”

When Worick looked like he was closing in for some kind of pity-fuck of a kiss, Nic leaped back. He let his booted foot skim the air right in front of Worick’s face. The wake of air ruffled Worick’s hair like a summer breeze.“ **dON’t cAlL mE bABe liKE i’M oNE oF yOUr TriCKs.** ”

Trying to act unfazed by the obvious warning shot, Worick shrugged. “Like I said, habit.”

Nic knew Worick was repeating that word on purpose. Habit. Like a drug habit. Pulling the packet of powder from his pocket, Nic tossed it at Worick. Worick made no move to try to catch it, so it fell onto the flat asphalt roofing at Worick’s feet. _I would’ve sold it, but I don’t know how much it’s worth._

Worick reached down to pick it up. “Not much. A couple hundred. But, we could trade it for a place to stay.”

_With more junkies? No thanks._

With a playful smile, Worick stood up and deliberately put the packet of powder into the front pocket of his jeans and said, “Could be profitable. I don’t have a boss any more and neither do you. We could make a killing rolling junkies.”

Nic shook his head. His posture was still wary, ready for a fight. Worick had been inching closer and now leaned a hip casually against the chimney Nic had been perched on. He was acting so strange and Nic’s stomach twisted into knots. Nic wanted to say: no, I don’t want that. What I want is for you and me to do something nice for a while. Just a day without blood or pain or hurt. Why are you fucking all that up?

But instead, Nic relaxed his pose and shrugged. _Fine. Whatever. You’re the boss now. If you want to get high and fuck junkies while I steal their pathetic shit, great. That’ll be a blast. Sign me the fuck up._

The easygoing mask Worick had been wearing the whole time they were talking slipped a little. “Look, what the hell do you want from me? You really think there’s some pollyanna future for us in, what?-- carpentry, small home repair? The fuck, Nic, how high are YOU?” Nic only sensed the emphasis because Worick jabbed a finger at him, hard. “Without Big Mama’s protection, I’m back to being some cheap slapper on the goddamn street. Might as well just embrace it now, because pretty soon we’re going to look back and think on today as one of the good days.”

So this was what all this was about. 

Worick didn’t believe they could really break free. He thought the only way forward was... backwards.

And that thought was clearly killing him.

Worick always pretended he was the prostitute with the heart of gold, that none of it bothered him, that he was a lothario who thought it was some kind of awesome bonus to get paid for it, but Nic knew better. He remembered the early days: the tears, the bruises, the humiliation, the shame.

If Nic could remember it; Worick remembered it ten times more clearly.

No wonder he’d wanted to get fucked up and obliterate everything.

 _It’s not going to be like that again_ , Nic signed.

Worick let his pain show finally, honestly. His face looked almost.. hollowed out, too empty to start over from the beginning again. With an expression like that, Nic could only imagine how tired Worick must have sounded when he said: “Why, because you’re A/O now? That’s not going to net me a pay raise, might even make things harder. Besides, you can’t be everywhere, all the time.”

Nic remembered that, too. All the times he was too weak… or, when he’d gotten stronger, arrived too late.

Worick was right. They needed a game changer.

But the game had changed, hadn’t it? Even if Worick couldn’t see it.

Nic took the money from his pocket and spread it out like a fan. “ **yOU’re A bOSs nOW. yOU kNOw WhAt eVErY bOSs hAS? a gUN. wE’Re goNNa bUY yOU a gUN.”**

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to post this before my beta reader (the wonderful Josey) really got a chance to spell-check it, so any errors you find are mine (and PLEASE tell me and I will fix them ASAP.)


End file.
